Crossbones (2014): Season 1, Episode 1 - The Devil's Dominion - full transcript

At its height, the British Empire

was the most powerful force
humanity had ever known.

Fully 1/5 of the world's population

lived and died under the British flag.

Yet its true power was not on land

but on the sea, where they ruled

with the most brutal
and efficient military force

that has ever been:

The British Navy.

But the oceans this Navy sought to control

were vast, unknowable,



and full of terrible danger.

And for all the crown's might,

its ships were often lost

to starvation, to storm and tempest,

and to pirates.

So it was that in 1712,

the Crown offered a prince's fortune

to whomever could create a device

that would allow its Navy

to navigate this great emptiness

with a precision never before known.

With this device, the empire

would increase its dominion over the world.

But without it,



the ships of the Crown
would continue to be easy prey,

not only from the gods
and monsters of legend

but from a monster far more brutal

and far more real.

How do they stand?

20 leagues. Two points west.

We can't outrun her, Sir.

Then let's show her we're
less afraid than we are hurt.

Aye, Sir.

Hard to port!

Hard to port!

Let's show 'em our Lee!

Now, Mr. Gadd,

it's no small presumption on my part

to dismember the image of God.

I therefore need your
affirmative before proceeding.

Are we dead?

Oh, yes.

Can you finish up here, Mr. Fletch?

I think you can.

I think you're ready.

Leave the guns! Set to port!

I need munitions and all guns!

Fire!

Mr. Nightingale, open up.

It's Tom Lowe, the physician.

Mr. Lowe, are we lost?

We are.

Mr. Lowe...

What are you doing?

Mr. Lowe.

Mr. Lowe, please.

Please, Mr. Lowe.

Please.

Mr. Nightingale!

I fear these pirates have been shadowing us

- since we left port.
- Why?

Because they know you're on board
and wish to acquire your invention.

- I'll tell them nothing.
- You'll tell them everything,

because they'll torture you.

They'll cut the secrets from your brain

as they'd hack a ring from your finger.

But your device is
the property of the king.

I can't allow it to fall into their hands.

For what it's worth, I apologize.

I'm unarmed.

And you are?

Thomas Lowe, physician.

Well, then save him.

That's not in my gift.

He's murdered himself.

I'll do what I can.

Make ready!

Set your arms!

Present arms!

For his majesty.

Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!

Sir.

Ah, Mr. Lowe, good to see
you back in one piece,

though it was a close run thing, I hear.

The job had its moments, Sir,

but the letters are back
in the possession of the king.

Excellent.

Now, have you been
briefed on this undertaking?

Not as yet.

I arrived in Jamaica
only this morning, Sir.

Very good.

You know what this is?

It appears to be a chronometer,

although of a uniquely complex nature.

Given the secrecy that attends it,

I can only conclude
that it's a navigation device.

Indeed, it is.

This instrument will allow a ship

to calculate its precise location

while at sea.

A prototype.

The only one of its kind,

and its inventor, Mr. Nightingale,

he'll be traveling to London

to present this device to the king.

You will join his ship incognito,

posing as the surgeon.

Nightingale will also have
in his possession this.

It contains the secrets of
the chronometer's construction,

carefully encrypted.

But if such a device or its inventor

were to fall into the
hands of our enemies...

Quite.

Then my assignment is
to prevent that happening.

No, your assignment is to eliminate

the pirate, Blackbeard.

But Blackbeard is dead, Sir.

So he would have us believe, yes.

A ghost story.

You killed him yourself.

I thought so, too,

for many a year,

but I was mistaken.

Blackbeard is alive and operates

from some unknown location.

There are so many places to hide,

so many islands,

so many coves and inlets.

It would take his majesty's fleet 100 years

to search them all.

But be assured:

Blackbeard lives,

and he will come for this chronometer,

and when he does,

you will execute him.

It would be my honor, Sir.

You will not fail me in this, Mr. Lowe.

Your ship leaves on the first tide.

Sir.

Was he right?

Where are we?

The devil's dominion.

Three piles, please,
gentlemen, three piles.

You know the drill.

Provisions over here,

goods for sale or exchange here,

and all weapons to Mr. Happ.

We'll keep this and this.

That we can sell

and that and that.

This is worthless.

Well, come on, then.

Fine morning.

Indeed.

Although I see it finds you in shackles.

Tom Lowe at your service.

What kind of service?

Anything you command,

if only you'd free my hands.

But it's vital that any servant of mine

conduct himself properly.

I hope you're not prone
to unseemly conduct, Mr. Lowe.

Well, I believe there's
nothing good or bad,

but thinking makes it so.

Then you've washed up on the right island.

Oy!

I've never heard such talk,

not from a lady.

You disapprove?

I most heartily do not.

That's Lady Katherine Balfour.

Oh, you know her?

Of her. She's a fugitive from justice.

Regarding which crime?

High treason.

Come on, Bates. Move your ass.

This is the kingdom of a madman.

Then hold your tongue,

or the madman will have it.

Nightingale destroyed the chronometer

and sought to murder himself.

Nothing more could be done.

We did recover this.

We could discern no meaning.

You're not supposed to, Charles.

It's a cipher.

Please,

allow me to introduce myself.

Thomas Lowe, is it?

Ship surgeon?

It is.

Very capable, it would appear.

Passable, I hope.

I'm commodore of this island.

Blackbeard.

We don't use that name here.

Of course.

Forgive my gaucheness, commodore.

It's just that you appear to be...

Well, you appear to be more robust

than many would have led me to believe.

I wonder what drove you
to the physician's life.

An interest in the mechanism
of the human body.

Is that what the human body is,

a mechanism?

In many respects.

In most.

That doesn't strike me
as a very godly proclamation.

Do you accept God, Mr. Lowe?

I fear him,

but I have no love for him.

Whyever not?

Because he wishes me to fear him.

Now, that is a splendid answer.

And you, commodore, do you
call yourself a Christian?

Why would I not?

Because many legends
cluster about you, Sir,

not all of them flattering.

Legends such as?

You're the devil.

You spit upon the cross at sunset

and feast upon the flesh
and marrow of infants.

Here's my creed.

I suspect that God is a clockmaker.

He wound creation up,

and now he sits back and watches it unwind.

Whether to his pleasure or otherwise

is any man's guess.

That's a cold theology.

And is there room for the devil in it?

Of course. The devil is an englishman.

Are you not an englishman, then?

- No longer.
- Then what?

A fellow with no wish
to be governed, inspected,

indoctrinated, preached at,

taxed, stamped, measured, judged,

condemned, hanged, or shot.

I'm not the devil, Mr. Lowe.

I have cast out the devil,

that depraved distinction
between rich and poor,

great and small,

master and valet,

governor and governed.

But are you not this island's king?

This island has no king nor wants one.

I serve at the pleasure of my people

until it's no longer their pleasure.

I wonder, how did you
acquire this specimen?

How do you suppose?

It's the flayed cadaver
of a man who betrayed me.

It's wax, Mr. Lowe.

Mr. Nightingale, the clockmaker,

has knowledge I very much covet,

but distressingly,

it seems he sought to murder himself

before I could take it for my own.

We have his cipher,

but ciphers are a troublesome beast.

Consequently, Mr. Nightingale
is denied permission to die.

And since our nation finds itself

in want of a physician,

the obligation to keep breath in his body

must fall to you.

And if I were to refuse?

I shall be obliged to
see hell visited upon you.

I don't fear death, Commodore.

If Mr. Nightingale dies,

I'm afraid death is what
you'll be pleading for,

and it is exactly what
you will not be granted.

Not all those unflattering legends

about me are untrue.

Word from the Petrel.

Who?

We don't know. The ship wasn't identified.

Her captain?

Does it hurt?

Are you afraid?

Because I can help you.

Just ask me to show the kindness

you never showed any other creature.

Go on.

Ask me.

Where's Blackbeard?

He was your captain,

but he never protected you.

Why protect him?

Very well.

Go to the arms of your degenerate God,

you unfathered bitch.

What do we do?

I don't know.

But you always know what to do.

Then today must stand as an exception.

How so?

I have to keep Mr. Nightingale alive,

or Blackbeard will have me murdered.

But I can't allow myself to be murdered

until I've destroyed

Mr. Nightingale's scarlet logbook.

I see.

So you're not really a physician, then?

Oh, I am that.

But I grant you, it's not all that I am.

Can the cipher be broken?

Perhaps. Eventually.

But it's eminently complex.

I am not persuaded it should be done,

not yet.

We're too weak, too small,

and this chronometer
is too important to them.

They'll gather a fleet

and come hunting after the man
who took their prize.

They'll annihilate us, Edward.

They won't find us,

and this chronometer will provide us

with means to protect ourselves,

so I beg you, unlock the cipher.

What if I choose not to?

Would you like to learn
something about yourself?

Your beauty pales beside your genius,

and your beauty is very considerable,

but you live for such puzzles and enigmas

as will exert your wits.

There never was a riddle

you could stand to leave undeciphered.

This code is no exception.

Morning.

How was your swim?

Bracing.

Mr. Nightingale's
circumstances are changing.

I need more supplies,
medications, remedies.

And you believe there's a remedy

for this man's condition?

I do.

Well, then I bow to your optimism.

Ah, you've lost your chains, I see.

A number of them, yes.

So how can I assist?

I need some vessels in
which to heat fresh water.

We have plenty of beer.

No, I need water

and salt,

plus ashes of burned leather, if available.

- Distressingly, no.
- Milk?

It's a rare pirate who keeps livestock.

Do you have vinegar?

- By the gallon.
- Leeches?

Well, I know how they can be come by.

Castor oil, enough to
induce a healthy vomit.

- I have a little.
- Excellent.

Although this comes to price, naturally.

You do have money, I presume.

My ship was raided by pirates.

I'm lucky to be in
possession of my own teeth.

Then how do you expect to find 80 pounds?

A year's wage for some castor oil

and a little vinegar?

This is an island.

Certain commodities are in short supply.

You do know this is usury.

I think of it as charity.

I'd like to know how a human head

can reconcile two such opposing concepts.

Well, it's elementary.

Then I beg you, enlighten me.

The chances of you living
long enough to repay me

seem minimal, at best.

Ergo, I hope for but
don't expect repayment.

Thus, charity.

How long has he been dead?

The window's our weakest spot.

Defend it, if you please.

Uh, with this?

What are you looking for?

A way to save your skin and mine,

Mr. Fletch.

Give me a sword.

I think I may have need of it.

Oh, Mr. Lowe! Sir!

Quiet, please, Mr. Fletch.

Quiet, please.

Shh.

Halt! Halt!

Get me the commodore,

or by God, his treasure's up in smoke!

So poor old Mr. Nightingale

had the poor manners to die?

He did.

And yet you seem heartily
disinclined to join him.

Oh, I am that, Sir,
most heartily disinclined.

And here's me thinking
you had no fear of death.

No fear of it, but no
impatience for it neither.

And what'll that be in your hand?

Your winnings, Commodore...

The key to Mr. Nightingale's cipher.

And if I suffer you to keep breathing,

you'll furnish me with it, I suppose?

Very gladly.

But once you've given me the key,

what's to stop me stringing
you up by the bollocks

and letting my boys draw and quarter you

with blunted knives?

An excellent question, well posed.

To which your answer is?

Now, that smacks of incivility.

Then you misread my intention.

But the key is no more,

which means I have to wrack my brains,

contriving new ways to butcher you.

- But it would be injudicious.
- And how so?

Because I've taken the liberty
of transferring the contents

of poor Mr. Nightingale's brain into mine.

You memorized the cipher?

Indeed, I did.

Give me life, and I'll happily decode

the logbook for you.

And you'd betray your king, your country?

In a heartbeat.

All for a little more time on earth.

That's all you'd be buying yourself,

just a little time.

Show me a man on his deathbed

who wouldn't trade all of his riches

for just one more second of time.

Whether you'll allow it or not,

Mr. Lowe,

you have something of the pirate about you.

Follow me, if you would.

Feel free to bring the monkey.

Your prison.

I've been in worse.

If you provide a false translation,

I'll know it,

and you'll be disciplined.

You may consider the point well made, Madam.

So Blackbeard must keep you alive

until you've decoded those pages?

Indeed, he must.

Because they explain the secret

of how to build the chronometer.

Indeed.

And the chronometer
can reckon longitude at sea?

It can.

And being able to reckon longitude at sea

will put an end to piracy forever.

It will.

Then why does Mr. Blackbeard want it?

I mean, if it threatens

to drive the likes of him
out of business forever,

why not just pulverize it?

You know, drop it in the
deepest part of the ocean?

I don't know. Why don't you ask him?

And if you refuse to decode the cipher?

Then it's a gallows dance for us both.

Then why are we still here?

You have the logbook.

Without it, the secret
of longitude is lost forever,

so let's just burn it and be gone.

What's your haste?

I don't want to get my neck stretched

or stabbed through the vitals neither

or have my eyes torn out with hot pokers

or called a monkey.

There's work to be done first

and much to think about.

Such as?

I have another job to do.

What job?

I'm to kill Blackbeard

and return his head to
the governor of Jamaica.

Well, why don't we just kill
Blackbeard and go home?

I wonder if you might not
bellow it just a touch louder.

Sorry.

Can't just walk up to him

and stab him through the heart, Mr. Fletch.

I need time,

and I need access to certain materials.

Shh.

You know the commodore
needs this device restored

to working conditions.

I do.

And in order for that to happen,

you have to complete this.

But the cipher that allows you to do it

is very formidable.

However, I've determined its nature.

It is a variation
of le chiffre indechiffrable,

which means it has one weakness.

Complex as the cipher may be,

the key to breaking it
lies in a single keyword,

perhaps a phrase.

If you were to furnish me with that phrase,

I could perform the task myself.

And I'd no longer be
of use to the commodore,

and he'd butcher me.

Or perhaps reward you.

And perhaps tomorrow
it'll rain mutton and unicorns.

Did she send me a boy?

That's novel.

No, Sir. No.

My name's Fletch.

I'm Mr. Lowe's loblolly boy.

Uh, they're torturing Mr. Lowe, Sir.

I'm afraid they'll kill him.

The key to the cipher, and this stops.

Remind me.

Did I ask you to torture this fellow?

No, you did not.

Yet here he is.

He was just about to tell us...

Tell you what you wanted to hear,

because that's what the cunning
fellow does under torture.

Am I right, Mr. Lowe?

Thus, torture delays
what must, of necessity,

be hastened.

It's been a fatiguing night.

Would you care to take
the morning air with me?

My lady.

You've got a loyal fellow there, Mr. Lowe.

Treat him well.

I must express my gratitude
for your intervention.

They do say the true measure of a man

is how he treats someone
who can do him no good.

They do.

However, in this case,

the observation wants for accuracy,

since apparently I'm in a position

to do you a great deal of good.

Indeed, but not for long.

My lady Selima believes it would be quicker

to torture from you what we need.

So I understand.

I, myself, do not.

And I'm very grateful for it.

Mr. Lowe, was it?

It was and is.

Good morning, Madam.

And to you.

Do you swim?

I can, with effort, avoid drowning

for a short time, should the need arise.

And has the need arisen?

Unhappily, yes.

I fervently pray it never does so again.

And why's that?

My clothes became soaked and heavy.

The weight of them nearly drowned me.

An argument that seems
less hostile to swimming

than wearing clothes while doing so.

You make a fine point,

but do you not find it
disagreeable to get so wet?

Not at all.

It's invigorating.

And how go the spoils from the Petrel?

I'll have them enumerated and in your hands

before sundown,

but it was good.

Rich pickings.

The fellow with the commodore...

He's a new face.

That's Thomas Lowe, the surgeon.

That fellow that caused all
the fuss in town yesterday?

That'll be him.

He and the commodore seem fast friends.

Don't be deceived.

They're two sharks circling each other.

Eat something.

You're getting too thin.

Is it bad today?

You cried out in your sleep.

What did I say?

No words, just sounds.

Selima believes you to
be treacherous at root,

traitorous to your core.

And I will not have her be right.

I choose to be right about you.

I choose to trust you,

and you'll make good on that trust,

because here's what she
doesn't know about cruelty:

You can hurt a man;
you can cause him torments

to make him damn the eyes of God;

but you can't really torture him

until you learn his most intimate terrors,

like I know yours.

You don't fear death or pain,

not the way you fear exposure as a coward.

So you'll do as I command,

or I'll string up young Master Fletch

in the town square,

and I will visit upon him such enormities

as to make Christ weep.

I'll starve him and slit his skin

and scourge him and see him violated

again and again and again.

For if there's one thing I know,

it's how to spread a legend.

And I'll ensure that the
world knows the cause

of his suffering is the loyalty

of one Thomas Lowe, ship's surgeon.

And that's how I'll torture you...

With your own vanity.

Mr. Lowe...

I'm sorry.

For what?

You saved my skin.

I'm inexpressibly in your debt.

I want to go home, Mr. Lowe.

I hate it here.

As do I.

What are we to do?

I can't buy any more time.

I have to kill Blackbeard

tonight.

Thank you.

So where are they?

These killing materials you need?

The quartermaster's warehouse.

Ho!

Allez!

Allez!

Allez!

Ca va bien.

Have you lost something?

I had something hidden in this trunk.

This.

Who is she?

My wife.

She's exquisite.

Indeed, she was.

And what was so urgent about her likeness

that you had to break
in here to acquire it?

It's...

It's all I have of her.

And you didn't want her image soiled

in the hands of pirates and doggery.

Quite so.

So you're happy to rob me?

I had no intention of keeping your keys,

but the cameo, however, is mine.

Far be it from me to keep her from you.

I bid you good night.

Shh.

Who's that? Your wife?

I have no wife.

She could be a piccadilly
whore, for all I know.

What's that?

Commodore Blackbeard's death.

What?

What do you want, Mr. Lowe?

I'm indisposed.

To discuss this.

I get headaches.

What manner of headache?

Across the brow or...

My eye, down here,

on this side of the skull, my neck.

Does it become painful to speak?

Very much so.

And are these headaches
accompanied by visions?

On occasion.

Can you describe the visions?

No.

No?

No.

And this... these things in your head,

this is a remedy?

Chinese in origin,

I believe.

Would you mind waiting while I... while I...

Please. Be my guest.

Deliver this to the spaniard.

Nobody must know.

Nobody will.

Selima was correct.

I've caused you unnecessary delay.

This is as much as I've deciphered.

Doesn't look much.

God's own truth, it's not.

There's much still to be done.

However, if I were to
provide you with the key

to breaking the cipher,

the work could be done in days.

I'm prepared to give you the key

and take you at your word

that no harm will come to the boy.

And what happens to you in this scenario?

All I can do is throw
myself on your mercy...

If indeed you have any.

So the key?

"Blackbeard must die."

You can see, I think,
why I hesitated to tell you,

but the cipher is not of my devising.

People fear you, Commodore.

You haunt their dreams.

It's only natural for them
to defuse these fears

with jokes, poor as those jokes may be...

The way we mock the devil.

So...

Shall we drink to it?

Seal it like englishmen?

Yes, let's.

What shall we drink to, then?

The king.

I think not.

But a toast he will like, and me too...

"Blackbeard must die."

Blackbeard must die.

So let's see how your key works,

and then we shall talk on the matter

of what's to become of you.

The commodore...

Will sicken within the hour
and die by daybreak.

So can we go now?

I very much think we ought to,

don't you?

There.

We'll get away in that?

We'll give it a fine try.

Now hurry.

Mr. Lowe?

What is it?

That's Alonzo Dalvarado,

right-hand man to the viceroy of new Spain

and sworn enemy to the Crown of England.

Damn.

Mr. Lowe? What is it?

What's happening?

Pirates conspiring with the Spanish.

- To what end?
- I don't know.

And if we leave because
Blackbeard's in his grave,

we never will,

not until they've spilled English blood.

Mr. Lowe, where are you going?

To save Blackbeard,

damn his eyes.

It's done.

Bring Rider!

- And that's the antidote, is it?
- It is.

Can it be relied upon?

Two times in three.

What if Blackbeard dies?

So do we.

Now help me.

Again, Fletch, for your life!

Lowe, Lowe...

What's he saying?

The surgeon's name, Lowe.

Is he calling for him?

He's accusing him.

Get the... get...

Get him. Oh, my God.

My lady, am I to kill
the doctor or summon him?

Kill him.

Stay away.

I can save him.

You did this to him.

No!

No, he has the falling sickness.

I've seen this before...

The headaches, the visions.

You poisoned him. Murderer!

This is a relaxant.

It will abate the rigor
in the commodore's muscles

and allow him to breathe again.

I warn you.

My lady, the commodore is dying.

He'll be dead in moments.

It's a fine day's work, Sir.

I can help him.

I ask only that you trust me.

Open the door, my lady!

Open the door!

Stay back.

Stop, stop!

Stop!

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

F-fine fellow.

Excellent fellow.

Can it be done?

You'll have every resource.

What you won't have
is my inexhaustible patience.

Can you rebuild it?

Yes, I think so.

I think it can be done.

Good.

This is his work?

It is.

I've heard things about him,

not all of it sugary.

Either the fellow saved my life,

or he tried to end it,
then changed his mind.

Either way, he fought like a dog to save me

when those I love were
content simply to avenge me.

Which makes him what?

I haven't decided yet.